Hey guys, today I am giving you a brief excerpt of writing that I crafted maybe a couple months ago. It’s that inspiration writing I did a few times before. This one I call Steamcraft, and will shortly be on my Inspiration Writing and Samples page.
I did a little editing, and don’t think that it’s from the Bayonet world. No minotaurs or fauns in my book. So here it is!
Smiling my signature lopsided grin, I step into the massive market. And in that moment I am greeted with the familiar bustle I see everyday. Hundreds of people crowd in the large square of money changers and merchants, pushing at one another’s back to get to their destination as fast as possible. A few steam-walkers take long strides again and again like some slow-moving chickens, some with two legs and some with four. All around me are tall buildings built of brick, plaster, and even granite. Stores and booths carpet the ground, selling every imaginable thing from gears to fruit for a few small coins. Street performers juggle dozens of balls and blow fire from their mouths at the same time, dressed in nothing but their baggy pants and a headband around their unkempt hair. Faun musicians play harmonious tunes on their fiddles, flutes, and bagpipes. Armed minotaurs patrol the streets with massive pressure-rifles over their shoulders. I declare that it is safe to say that today is a busy day.
I look up, my leather helmet’s visor clicking up a notch from its position. Steam-powered heli-choppers hover around large clock towers like bees on pollen-filled flowers. The long propellers spin in an endless vortex, pulling the craft up in the air. He looks in the tinted cockpits and sees the pilots inside, manning the controls as if operated some complex pinball machine. Mingling with the heli-choppers are dragons steered expertly by their mounts. Some hold massive loads, delivering crates and large canvas bags filled with heavy machinery. In other cases the dragons are covered with war armor and all sorts of pressure-guns that fire either missiles or bullets.
I turn my gaze back to the square. Where’s that store? Then I see the large sign that hangs lopsided on two chains from an old roof. Delvin’s Metal. I run up to the old door and barge in, hearing the little bell ring at my arrival. In the cramped store are shelves upon shelves of small boxes filled with iron, bronze, and steel contraptions, tools, or materials for bigger building. I walk through a tight aisle, making sure I don’t crash down the shelves behind me as I sort through the one before me. I look at a number of small wheels, pulley parts, and a few gears with teeth so tiny I can only feel them. I one such gear down and pick up a small steel wheel with a radius of two inches and a small groove around the edge.
“Delvin!” I call. “Delvin!” I hear the portly man bustle into the room.
“Coming!” he calls as he pushes awkwardly through the aisles with greasy work clothes strapped on his ample belly. Oil’s even on his bald head. “Coming,” he repeats as he finally stands next to me.
“Do you have any more of these?” I ask regarding the wheel.
“Just got a new delivery of them last week,” he says, inspecting the wheel himself. “They’re used for work pulleys. What do ya need them for?”
“A little building project,” I say. “I also need to see your steel supply. I need a strip about……………………
Did you like it? It’s definitely not my best, but I still like it.
Well see you next time.